


A Rose by Any Other Name

by luvinpadfoot



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Harry Potter Next Generation, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 15:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3574913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvinpadfoot/pseuds/luvinpadfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mr. Weasley? Your visitors are here." She's blocking my view so I can't see who's there and even when she moves I'm stumped for a moment. Then I recognize the woman. My Hermione. How could I have ever forgotten her?</p>
<p>"Hermione," I breathe, reaching forward. There are tears in her eyes as she hurries over and takes my hand. I love the feeling of her soft palm against mine, always just a few degrees cooler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Rose by Any Other Name

The room is white, almost as white as a hospital room. It's nicer, though. There are chairs and sofas arranged in a semicircle, but they've placed me in a wheelchair. I told them I could walk fine on my own, but they don't listen.

I don't know why I've been told to wait in this room. A woman in a knee length dress walks by and peeks in. "How are you doing, Mr. Weasley?" I don't recognize her, but I don't recognize much around here. I'd much rather be back at home.

"Just fine, Miss." She looks like a sweet girl and she smiles at me and comes in. She reminds me a bit of my little sister, the same spunk, but her hair is the wrong color. I feel as though I should know her and I think hard. "Lavender?"

She giggles. Her hand covers her mouth, but the sounds still escape. "You always call me Lavender, Mr. Weasley. She must've been real important to you. My name's Lynette."

"I don't think so." Now I remember. Lavender was my girlfriend, but that was before Harry defeated Voldemort, before Hermione. I want my Hermione. "Will Hermione be coming by?"

Something changes in the girl's expression. "Your family will be here soon, Mr. Weasley. That's why you're down here."

"Oh." This makes sense. Hermione is coming to bring me home, from whatever this place is. I want to ask the girl, but she's already walking away and I don't wish to cause a scene. There are so many questions missing answers and the most I can do is sit here and wait. They've left a few newspapers laying around and I open one. A few pages are missing so I turn straight to the Quidditch page. The Cannons are losing again, no surprise, but I don't recognize the players' names. I'll have to do a better job of keeping up with them.

My eyes ache when I finish reading and I fold the paper in my lap, creasing the folds into perfect edges. It's a tiny square before I can't fold it any further.

"Mr. Weasley?" The girl is back and two people stand behind her. "Your visitors are here." She turns to the man and woman behind her and speaks again. "He's been excited to see you all morning. It's so lovely of you to come. He's having a good day."

She's blocking my view so I can't see who's there and even when she moves I'm stumped for a moment. Then I recognize the woman. My Hermione. How could I have ever forgotten her? "Hermione," I breathe, reaching forward. There are tears in her eyes as she hurries over and takes my hand. I love the feeling of her soft palm against mine, always just a few degrees cooler.

"Hi," she says softly. "How are you feeling?"

"Just fine, darling. Did you come to take me home?" I'm eager to leave this place with the white walls and return to my beautiful wife and our cottage.

"Maybe later," she tells me. I nod, so happy to see here that waiting a while longer doesn't matter. I want to be where she is. Whether it's here or back home is just semantics. "Are you eating well? You look thin."

That's my Hermione, always worrying about me. "I eat like a horse, always have," I boast. "Did you do something new to your hair? It looks redder." I'm mesmerized by the color. It's Hermione's bushy hair, but there's a tint to it, a color like mine.

"I cut it a few days ago."

That must be it. I nod, feeling satisfied and catch a glimpse of the man behind her. He has the hair I remember, the same eyes. "Malfoy." Hermione's chocolate brown eyes fill with worry and she looks back at him. "What's he doing here? Why would you bring him here? What's happening?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley." I can't remember if he's ever called me Mr. Weasley before, but maybe he has. I think he has. "I shouldn't have come anyway. I hope you feel better."

"No, please stay." She looks at him with those sad brown eyes, the same way she looks at me.

"Coward! Thief! Harry saved you and it wasn't enough! Don't come back, filthy coward! He's a coward!" My voice elevates, higher and higher pitched. Harry saved him, but he shouldn't have. He almost killed us during the war. I can't remember when the war ended. If I can't remember an end, there must not have been one. Why is Hermione with the enemy?

Malfoy looks at me with an emotion, one I can't name. He backs away and Hermione is staring at him, not me. She's supposed to stare at me. "Coward! Coward! Ferret!" My breaths come in short quick bursts. I'm slumping over in my chair, but Hermione hasn't let go of my hand. Her pressure keeps me here and sane. With her here my head is clear.

"I'm going," Malfoy says and he's gone in a blink.

"He's a coward."

Hermione shakes her head and a few tears trickle down her cheek. I reach my hand up to wipe them away, but she pulls back. "Can't you forgive him? Or try to? Wasn't the war about forgiveness in the end? That's what you taught me, anyway."

My forehead creases. "You're always the one teaching me."

She looks at me with immeasurable sadness. "Right." Her voice is soft and I want to kiss away the pain I hear, take away her sorrow. The war hurt us all, but with time we'll heal. She tells me that, often. In a few years we'll be happier together with a family all our own. We'll be happy.

A woman bustles in, a bottle in her hand. "Would you like your drink, Mr. Weasley? It'll help you calm down."

Calm? I am calm. "Thank you," I say and take the bottle, but I don't drink it. Malfoy is out there somewhere and he might have done something to it. The ferret would poison me given a chance, me and Harry too. Perhaps the girl is working for him or with him. There's a war going on. You can never be too careful.

"Won't you drink a little?" Hermione asks me, pleading. "Just a few sips. I can almost see your bones." I bring it up to my lips and a small amount sneaks through. It's heavy, filling. I put it down and she gives me a tight smile. "That's really good."

"I- I need-" The words won't come and my hands return to the newspaper square in my lap, folding and creasing in a simple pattern.

"What do you need?" She's on her feet in a heartbeat. "Juice? Another potion? Some food?" I shake my head, but I still can't think of the words. They're there, just below the surface. I can feel their presence, but I can't-

Her finger strokes my palm. It's so soft I hardly notice. I beam at her. "Did you do something new to your hair? It looks redder." It's bushy like always, but almost like mine in color.

Her hand trembles against mine. "I cut it last week." Her voice is equally shaky. That must be it, then. Maybe her color was always redder. I'm sure that's the case.

"Did you come to take me home?" I don't like this place very much. The walls are too white, like a hospital, but the chairs look more comfortable. I'm in a chair, but it's not normal. There are large things on either side, round. I don't know why. I can walk just fine, but I guess I should wait until someone tells me what it's there for.

"Maybe later. You need to stay here for just a little while longer, okay?"

I trust my Hermione, even when she's crying. She's beautiful and I want to wipe away her tears. I reach out my hand and she lets me touch her face, swipe them away with my thumb. "I'll wait for you."

"I know you will," she whispers. "I'll come back soon."

She hugs me and I breathe in her scent. It's in her hair, almost like outside. The colors on the ground. I can smell them in her hair. I don't want her to leave. The back of her walking away from me is the worst sight I've ever seen, worse than anything. I can't remember how to compare, but I know I hate her leaving. I only want my Hermione by my side forever.

A girl walks into my room and I smile at her. I'm something of a famous person now, even with Harry standing beside me, and fans like it when you smile at them. "I'm glad you're feeling well, Mr. Weasley. Did your visit with your daughter go well?"

My daughter? I don't have a daughter. I'm still a single man, though I'd give anything to marry my Hermione. "That was Hermione," I tell her.

"That was Rose," she corrects gently. "Your daughter. And her husband Scorpius. They come twice a week to see you."

"I don't have a daughter," I say loudly. She's wrong. If I had a daughter, I would most certainly know about it. People don't forget things like daughters. "I don't have a daughter! I don't! I have a- I have a wife." Do I? Am I married? No. No?

"Why don't you have some more of your juice?" She pushes a bottle at me and I knock it away. The white liquid splatters across the floor. "Oh." She doesn't sound surprised. "I can get that cleaned up for you in a jiffy."

"I want- I need-" I need something, I know I do. What do I need? "I need to go to the place. The place over-" I wave at nothing. "I need the place!"

"Of course, Mr. Weasley. I'll take you there right away." I nod in satisfaction. When I start to stand, she puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Why don't you stay seated? That will be easier for both of us." Moving in a chair seems like a bad idea, but I sit back down.

She takes me down the hallway and pauses by a room that's so different from the others. It's not as nothing. It's something. "The kitchen? Is that what you needed?"

Is it? "No. I uh- Yes. That's fine."

She pushes me in and comes to stand in front of me. "Would you like some more juice?"

"I- yes, Miss." She looks familiar, but I can't remember from where I know her. I don't think I've seen her before today, but there's a feeling there. It grows inside of me, then shrinks. "Lavender?" I ask.

She giggles. Her hand covers her mouth, but the sounds still escape. "You always call me Lavender. She must've been real important to you. My name's Lynette."


End file.
